But Netta was warm on his lap with no judgment in her gaze. It wasn’t as hard as he thought to open his mouth and tell her the story.
“I set up my first laboratory in an outbuilding at Marcus’s townhouse in London. I stayed with him during breaks from Cambridge.” He dug his fingers into her hips. “I didn’t have much of a home to return to.”
She nodded. “You have good friends.”
“That I do.” He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding. “I had minor successes developing a more stable gunpowder and built a larger workshop at Stonesworth House. The discoveries came faster, small improvements on smelting techniques that improved the durability of metals. My confidence grew along with the Summerset coffers. Then I began working with chromium to create a new formula for steel.”
The back of his throat burned. There was no way to convey the thrill he’d experienced at that discovery. The feeling that he could touch the moon, set it spinning, if he put his mind to it.
Cupping his face, she ran her thumb along his cheekbone. For once, his opinionated Netta remained quiet. A silent support.
He rubbed his cheek against her palm and sighed. “By then, I was earl. I’d expanded the laboratory to make work spaces for my brothers, although Kevin was still too young to assist. But Robert did. He had no interest in science, but he was eager to help.”
Too eager. A small part of John wondered if that had led Robert to be impatient, to become careless mixing the chemicals.
John pressed his lips tight. Which was the coward’s way out, to try to shift blame to his brother. He wouldn’t hide behind that excuse.
Arranging his features into its familiar insouciant mask, he finished the story. “I became over-confident. Thought the formula was simple enough to duplicate and told my brother to run the next experiment and note the results. I gave him the materials. Told him the proportion of the chemicals to use.” He shrugged. “I must have made a mistake in my calculations. There was an explosion, leaving him as he is now.”
“Sullen and resentful?”
John frowned. “Scarred.” Though the other two characteristics definitely applied.
“Does that matter overmuch?” She wrinkled her nose. “His capabilities haven’t been diminished in any way, have they?” Her eyes shot wide. “Oh, did the explosion injure other parts of him? Parts of him that…uh, men find most important?”
“No!” John ran his hand up the back of his head. “All Chaucer men are quite competent in that arena. Some might say exceedingly so.”
She didn’t jump to agree with that sentiment, and John narrowed his eyes.
“All right,” she said. “Then why does he behave such? The few times I’ve met him, all he does is glower and grumble. Not one smile for me. And as we both know, I’m delightful.”
John did her the service she hadn’t shown him and agreed. “Yes, you are.” Settling his hands at her bum, he tugged her an inch closer so her heat was nestled over his groin. “But his face is disfigured. He feels a monster. And his chances for a good match have greatly diminished. No woman wants to wake up to that every morn. Would you?”
“Yes.” She nodded stoutly. “In a heartbeat, if he was of the right character. A pretty face can hold much evil; why can’t a scarred one hold an equal quantity of goodness?”
John’s stomach fluttered. “No reason.” Her mouth was right there in front of his, so he leaned forward and kissed her slowly, leisurely. “No reason at all.” He squeezed her arse. “Netta, are you saying if I were of good character—”
“Which we both know you are not,” she teased.
“Quite. And if I wasn’t so devastatingly good-looking—”
She sighed. “Which we both know you are.”
His lips twitched. “Quite. But if I were both those things, ill-favored but morally upright, that you would still have agreed to help me? Still have found yourself in my bed?”
She tilted her head, a smile dancing about her lips. “You offered me four thousand pounds. I would have agreed to help Shakespeare’s monster, Caliban, for four thousand pounds.”
He slowly raised one eyebrow. He didn’t like how much truth might be in that statement.
“As to landing in your bed…” She wiggled her hips. “You could be poor, ill-favored, and the dissolute reprobate you are and you’d still have to drag me from it.” She placed a soft kiss on his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “The Chaucer men are just that good.”
He breathed deeply. That was more like it. “Netta, is there another actor who can take your place at the theatre tonight?”
She pulled back. “Why? Are we going to a gaming hell?” A flicker of concern passed across her features.
“No. Can you find a replacement?”
“There is always an extra villager who is eager to take on a speaking role.” She tugged on his cravat. “Tell me where you wish to take me?”
